One fine morning, I woke up and decided to love and accept myself just the way I am.  It was one of the worst decisions I ever made in my life.

I loved myself through long days of eating junk food and watching TV, until I became overweight and unhealthy.  I was too lazy to work out–well, what of it?  I was the type who liked to spend her day on the couch, and I accepted myself that way.  I accepted my unemployed self, too–not all of us are a good fit for a regular job, after all.  And who was I to force my special inner child to do things it didn’t want to do?  Anyway, I was going to be a writer.  Never mind that I wasn’t writing anything, forever waiting for inspiration to strike.  Truth is, I wasn’t doing a goddamn thing except mooching off my very patient family.  But to admit this would have meant being critical of myself.  And criticizing yourself was bad and mean.

So I loved myself right into sloppiness and mediocrity and low expectations.  And one day, I realized I didn’t like myself anymore.  And it was freeing.  I looked at my existence and thought “Um…I’m kind of a loser.”  It felt great to say this out loud.  Now that I was no longer delusional about who I was, I could start to work on my life and make it better.

I’ve come a long way since then, but I make sure to remind myself of that time once in a while, when it seems like my standards may be slipping again.  Not to get all New Age cheesy about it, but the Universe gave me a learning experience about just how pathetic I’m capable of being.  I have learned and I’ve moved on, but I will still say, in my best Grumpy Cat voice: “I don’t love myself…GOOD.”